Sonnet 01 - 05

SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE AND OTHER LOVE POEMS 作者：伊丽莎白·巴雷特·勃朗宁投票推荐加入书签留言反馈

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So 01 - I thought once how Theocritus had sung

 I

 I thought once how Theocritus had sung

 Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years,

 Who eae in a gracious hand appears

 To bear a gift for mortals, old or young:

 And, as I mused it in his antique tongue,

 I saw, in gradual vision through my tears,

 The sweet, sad years<var>.99lib.</var>, the melancholy years,

 Those of my own life, who by turns had<a></a> flung

 A shadow ae. Straightway I was ware,

 So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move

 Behind me, and drew<q></q> me backward by the hair:

 And a voice said in mastery, while I strove,—

 Guess now who holds thee? — Death, I said. But, there,

 The silver answer rang,— Not Death, but Love.

 Elizabeth Barrett Browning

 So 02 - But only three in all Gods universe

 II

 But only three in all Gods universe

 Have heard this word thou hast said,—Himself, beside

 Thee speaking, and me listening! and replied

 One of us . . . that was God, . . . and laid the curse

 So darkly on my eyelids, as to amerce

 My sight from seeing thee,—that if I had died,

 The deathweights, placed there, would have signified

 Less absolute exclusion. Nay is worse

 From God than from all others, O my friend!

 Men could not part us with their worldly jars,

 Nor the seas ge us, nor the tempests bend;

 Our hands would touch for all the mountain-bars:

 And, heaven being rolled between us at the end,

 We should but vow the faster for the stars.

 Elizabeth Barrett Browning

 So 03 - Unlike are we, unlike, O princely Heart!<var></var>

 III

 Unlike are we, unlike, O princely Heart!

 Unlike our uses and our destinies.

 Our ministering two angels look surprise

 On one a<q>藏书网</q>nother, as they strike athwart

 Their wings in passing. Thou, bethink thee, art

 A guest for queens to social pageantries,

 With gages from a hundred brighter eyes

 Than tears even make mio play thy part

 Of chief musi. What hast thou to do

 With looking from the lattice-lights at me,

 A poor, tired, wandering singer, singing through

 The dark, and leaning up a cypress tree?

 The chrism is on thine head,&mdash;on mihe de;mdash;

 Ah must dig the level where these agree.

 Elizabeth Barrett Browning

 So 04 - Thou hast thy calling to some palace-floor

 IV

 Thou hast thy calling to some palace-floor,

 Most gracious singer of high poems! where

 The dancers will break footing, from the care

 Of watg up thy pregnant lips for more.

 And dost thou lift this houses latch too poor

 For hand of thine? and st thou think and bear

 To let thy music drop here unaware

 In folds of golden fulness at my door?

 Look up ahe casement broken in,

 The bats and owlets builders in the roof!

 My cricket chirps against thy mandolin.

 Hush, call no echo up in further proof

 Of desolation! there s a voice within

 That weeps . . . as thou must sing . . . alone, aloof

 Elizabeth Barrett Browning

 So 05 - I lift my heavy heart up solemnly

 V

 I lift my heavy heart up solemnly,

 As ora her sepulchral urn,

 And, looking in thine eyes, I overturn

 The ashes at thy feet. Behold and see

 What a great heap of grief lay hid in me,

 And how the red wild sparkles dimly burn

 Through the ashen grayness. If thy foot in s

 Could tread them out to darkness utterly,

 It might be well perhaps. But if instead

 Thou wait beside me for the wind to blow

 The gray dust up, . . . those laurels on thine head,

 O my Beloved, will not shield thee so,

 That none of all the fires shall scord shred

 The hair beh. Stand farther off then! go.

 Elizabeth Barrett Browning

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